The Scarman Enigma

[|Scarecrow|]

Starwood Hotel, Reception Area, Ground Floor

It was too late for further discretion. The cat was out of the bag. Before being cuffed, Merlow had quietly ordered Captain Hao to take the Tuatha de Danaan and the rest of the fleet back into the boundaries of the nearby Sierra ice field. The Black Flag sabotage had badly damaged the flagship and rendered her stealth systems inoperable, but she would still be able to hold her own in a fight. Merlow needed to preserve his assets, and quickly. The last thing he wanted was open conflict with the native Liberty forces, but the freedom they had enjoyed until recently was now at an end. Repercussions lay just around the corner, and Merlow knew he needed those under his command to be ready for anything. The rest of the ragtag 1st Fleet was en route from various locations throughout Liberty to reinforce the Danaan, and would take just a handful of days to arrive. There would be a standoff, Robert was certain. He wanted the entirety of his command to come together and take a defensive stance until there was some kind of resolution. He had been quietly discussing the situation with Thomas Serov when the LACPD Captain arrived.

“An entire fleet of stealthed ships mooring secretively within the boundaries of a sovereign nation was going to boil over at some point Rob, not to mention capture the attention of the press-” Serov was mid-flow when the Captain interjected. He was a gruff, older man, possibly in his early sixties. His barrel chest and thick arms betrayed a life of physicality, likely having risen through the ranks of the Los Angeles Police Force. His insignia read ‘R.C.P. Marjerison’.
“Interesting uniform you’re wearing sir.” Margerison looked Merlow up and down, eyeing his Fleet Admiral’s colours. “Care to explain yourself?”
Behind the Captain, two bodies glided out on anti-gravity gurneys. One was only just identifiable as Victoria Wade, covered as she was in breathing aids and other medical apparatus. The other was wreathed in a blood-stained sheet. Merlow could see the tails of Kurt Manning’s coat drifting beneath the gravity nullifiers under the medical sled. He sighed deeply. The day had been a bad one. Their worst in some time.
“That’s a long story,” Merlow looked up and met the Captain’s gaze, “But I suppose we’ve got the time.”

* * *

Forested Area, ninety miles south of Los Angeles Capital

The storm was huge, covering more than a hundred square miles. With it came both asylum and internment. Marcus had managed to lose his pursuers in the broiling chaos, but the powerful arc lightning had forced him down in the middle of a vast forested area. His Patriot light fighter, or Hawthorne twenty-one-oh-three, as was apparently her callsign, had been struck several times by lashing bolts of electrical energy. It had taken a great deal of skill to bring her down without incident. The descent had been bumpy, but Marcus had eventually managed to coax the fighter down into the treetops. Now, she sat on her landing legs, partially sunken into the swampy mud of the forest floor. Heavy rain hammered on the canopy, and Marcus had nothing to do but watch upward as the lightning flashes lit up the thunderous sky above the treetops.

The LACPD wing on his tail had likely called off their hunt. The sky had become far too dangerous for continued flight. However, Marcus had no doubt that they would resume their search as soon as the storm lifted. He would only have a narrow window to be able to make it to orbit, and even then, his ship would act like a homing beacon. For the time being, it was all he had, so he would need to change the ident codes, and potentially the external markings. He begrudgingly leaned forward and unbuckled his belt, rummaging around in the spaces beside him for any indication of a set of engineer’s tools. If the layout of the Patriot was anything like it had been in his home dimension, access to the transponder box would be through one of the rear hatches. That meant going outside. And getting wet.

Marcus sighed and popped the canopy release. He immediately shivered as the dampness of the world outside penetrated the warmth of the cockpit. He swung his legs over the edge and dropped down into the mud, making his way toward the aft section of the starship. Considering everything, his flight off-world would now only be a bid for freedom. He knew he had lost Sayne to the stars.
Sayne and the girl. The pirate had successfully made his escape with Heather Scarman. There was no longer hope of immediate pursuit, although Marcus suspected it all to be far from over. For Sayne to run away with a hostage meant that he still wanted something. Perhaps he hadn’t been able to achieve the goal he had set through his alliance with the mad Tyrant of the Black Flag. His goal of revenge, Marcus knew. Revenge for a slight that had been committed years ago, on the battlefields of New London during the Imperial Conflict in their home dimension. Sayne wanted Marcus dead and would apparently stop at nothing until he achieved his bitter aim.
At least Sayne and the Black Flag had been beaten back, Marcus thought, although at what cost?

Finding the correct hatch for the transponder unit, Marcus removed the panel and set to work on disabling the fighter’s electronic signalling. As he worked, his thoughts travelled back to the fight in the tower, and Victoria… The fighting had been bitter and intense, on both sides. From what he had seen, Victoria had been savagely beaten to within an inch of her life. But crucially, she had still been breathing when he had left her with Merlow. The pit in Marcus’ stomach seemed to yawn wider. He had let her go, back in that moment on the hotel’s terminal floor, he had let her go. To save Heather, he’d had no choice.
And for what? He was standing in a remote forest in the middle of a rainstorm, empty handed. One of Liberty’s most wanted, and without a trace of Sayne Jadyn and the young girl he swore to save.
Robert will take care of Victoria, he reasoned with himself. She can’t die. We’ve been through too much.
Once again, guilt bubbled to the surface, and Marcus’ thoughts turned to visions of his wife Tomoko.
How long has it been? He grunted as the transponder box came free with a clunk. How long since I left you, to follow this madness? Years? How many years?
He let go of the box and watched it fall into the mire beneath the ship.
Parallel dimensions, trans-dimensional alien races, vengeful pirates prepared to move heaven and earth to see me dead- Why did I jump? Why did I chase that damned rift-manipulator? I should have stayed with you, Tomoko. I miss you...
Without warning or control, his thoughts turned back to Victoria, and the image of her lying broken on the ground, her body covered in blood and bruises. The pit yawned wider, and the notion of Tomoko faded until she was barely tangible.
“What am I going to do?” It was all too much. The rain soaked his back and neck and ran around the sides of his face. The droplets formed small streams that flooded his brow and cheeks, dripping from his nose and chin in tiny waterfalls. It was more than enough to conceal the tears that welled in the corners of his eyes.

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| S C A R E C R O W |

"See you space cowboy..."